


The Case of the Mistaken Model

by Ticklesivory



Category: Obidala - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27955283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ticklesivory/pseuds/Ticklesivory
Summary: There's been a murder and it's up to Private Investigator Ben Noble to figure out who killed a beautiful young fashion model. (This is an Obidala AR.)
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 31
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Title: The Case of the Mistaken Model

Author: Ticklesivory

Rating: T+

Summary: There's been a murder and it's up to Ben Noble to figure out who killed a beautiful young fashion model.

Warnings: None

Author's Note: My first attempt at a true Alternate Reality story. Hang on Dorothy, we aren't in Coruscant any longer.

Starring: Obi-Wan Kenobi as Ben Noble; Qui-Gon Jinn as Matthew Quinn; Sheev Palpatine as Steven Alpati; Mace Windu as Mason Dunn; Sabe as Sadie Boone; Siri Tache as Iris; Anakin Skywalker as Nick Walker; and Padme Amidala as Ami Berrie. With special guest appearance by Jar Jar Binks as Arnie Jenkins.  
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Chapter One:

"Even the Upper-Class Have Problems"

I was born in this city. Some may think it's dirty and full of crime, but I wouldn't live anywhere else. Sure, there are areas a smart guy wouldn't be caught in after dark, but in the daylight, it sparkles beneath the sun. At night, it's alive – filled with color and music. There isn't another place like it.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I not only grew up here, I stayed. The hardest part was figuring out a way to make a decent living. Not long after college, a friend of mine on the police force got me an interview with the Quinn Detective Agency, and thankfully, I got the job. It paid barely enough to cover rent and fill my stomach, but it was more than a lot could say. Things were tough here after the war and good jobs were scarce.

I liked mine and worked hard to keep it, even though it often took me into the worst parts of the city: The places where bad people lived and bad things often happened. Even the police didn't venture into these places, although my boss once informed me there's a good reason for that. He claims the thugs and drug lords downtown give special privileges and allowances to the police; that there's hardly anyone on the force these days who hasn't been corrupted. On too many occasions, we'd had to turn a blind eye to that. I don't like doing it, but in order to keep my job, it's something I have to put with. At least for now.

Today is different. Today, Detective Quinn and I have been called to a pretty swanky part of town I've never visited because, well - I can't afford to. One decent meal here costs more than my weekly paycheck. In fact, I don't even personally know anyone who lives here, although that's all apparently about to change. I guess bad things can happen uptown as well as down.

I shifted uncomfortably in the elevator that was carrying us up to the penthouse level. Apparently, my supervisor noticed.

"Don't worry, Ben," he told me, adding a good-natured clap on my shoulder. "Rich folks are people too and they put their pants on one leg at a time. Just like us. Besides, after this is over, I'll buy you a beer at Frank's."

"I'll take you up on that, Mr. Quinn," I replied. "You know, you didn't have to come with me," I told him. When was he ever going to trust me? "I could've handled this on my own." It was true. I'd already investigated enough cases in my short career I really didn't need his guidance. Actually, I preferred to work alone.

"I realize that," Quinn answered. "Maybe I wanted to take a glance at the place as well. We sure could use the money and these folks seem to have loads of it."

"True," I agreed. Even the elevator buttons were gold. Probably legit too.

When we finally reached the top floor, Quinn and I stepped off.

"This is it," I told him after finding numbers 345 on an apartment door; also in gold, I noticed.

Quinn knocked and the door immediately opened. I'm not sure who I was expecting; a butler maybe, but not the unfriendly face of the city's chief of police. I knew he'd be involved sooner or later, but I was hoping we'd beaten him to the crime scene. I didn't care much for the man.

"Mason," Detective Quinn greeted before thrusting out his hand. I was surprised Chief Dunn accepted it right away and shook Quinn's hand so exuberantly.

Rumor says long ago, the two men had been friends. Good friends. I'd never learned what busted that up, but Quinn had left the police force to start his own detective agency at about the same time.

"This your newest?" Dunn nodded his head in my direction.

"He's been with me a little while," Quinn told him. "Ben Noble, meet Mason Dunn, Chief of Police."

I offered a hand as well, although the Chief seemed more hesitant to accept it and was eyeing me rather critically.

"Well, step on inside," Dunn suggested after he promptly removed his hand from mine. "Although I'm not sure this requires both of you. Pretty cut and dry, I'd say."

As soon as I entered the apartment, I first noticed that it looked nothing like mine. It was twice the size and filled with expensive-looking furniture and art. The place was pastel, glittery, and perfectly clean. Even the white carpet on the floor didn't show a trace of dirt on it. Which is probably why the large bloodstain on it stood out so much.

The body hadn't been moved yet, which gave us the opportunity to study the scene: A young girl, twenty-four, twenty-five maybe, was lying prone on the floor wearing a long silk gown, the back of her head caved in. On the floor next to her was a marble statue of some famous person I didn't recognize and didn't care to. The only thing I cared about was that it too was covered with blood.

"The murder weapon, I presume?" Quinn asked.

"Seems so," Dunn replied while his officers began bagging and labeling the evidence. Before they carted everything away, I wanted to collect a few things myself, and I quickly reached inside my long coat for my camera.

"Hold on fellas," I asked before snapping a few shots of the body, the murder weapon, and the surrounding area. It was only then that I noticed another young woman sitting on the opposite side of the room. She was obviously upset and was being interviewed by yet another one of Dunn's officers. I stared at her and only looked away once she caught me. I could've sworn I knew her from somewhere.

"There are two residents at this address," Quinn told the Chief. "Which one is the deceased?"

"The unlucky girl is Sadie Boone," Dunn supplied with a gesture toward the body. "And over there is her roommate, Ami Berry. She's the one who apparently called you for help."

"Ami Berry," I repeated out loud. I didn't know the name. "Why does she look so familiar?"

A smile that looked as if it didn't quite fit suddenly appeared on Dunn's face. "Her likeness is plastered all over the city, young man! Billboards, magazines, tv commercials. Surely, you've seen her."

"That's right," I slowly realized. "She's a model."

I glanced back over to the couch to find the girl was now sitting alone. When I turned back to ask Quinn a question, the officer who'd been sitting with her was whispering something in Chief Dunn's ear.

"I'd like the opportunity to interview her myself," I asked once he was free.

Quinn smirked at me. He was always complaining about my youthful energy and how hard I worked to resolve cases. "Go right ahead, Ben."

Chief Dunn, however, stopped me with a large hand planted on my chest. "You'd better make it quick. We're fixing to take her downtown."

"That's not necessary," I told him, knowing full well the way things worked. Cooperate with the police at the scene or at the station. It was your choice. "I can question her right here."

The smile was gone from the Chief's face. "It is necessary, I'm afraid since she's now our number one suspect."

"What?" I glanced back in disbelief at the beautiful girl now sobbing into her hands.

"That's a rather quick judgment," Quinn pointed out. "Where's the evidence?"

"Don't need any," Dunn replied. "The young lady confessed. We're booking her for first-degree murder."


	2. Beautiful Confession

She'd been too upset to answer my questions, so we followed the patrol car to the station, stopping at the office along the way.

"Go on," Quinn told me after he'd gotten out of the car. "I'm going to lock up. I'll see you in the morning."

Thankful for the opportunity to work on my own, I slid to the driver's seat and was at police headquarters in no time. I'd visited here several times in the past and never enjoyed the experience. No matter how clean it appeared, there was always an underlying smell of urine.

Miss Berrie was in cell number four but she wasn't alone. There were several women in there with her; prostitutes mainly, and I recognized a few of them. They teased me as I approached.

"Hi honey," one of them purred. "Come to bail me out?"

"No, he's come for me!" another shouted before making provocative gestures aimed my way. "If you get me out of here, lover, I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"Rhonda, you know I'm not good for it. I can hardly afford my rent," I replied while waiting for the accompanying officer to open the door.

"You whores back away from the bars," the policeman demanded, adding a sharp rap with his nightstick for emphasis.

I wasn't sure how I was going to have a private conversation in here but was hoping the girls would settle down once I'd started my interview. There were a few rooms set aside for visits such as this, but they were reserved for counsel only.

I saw the young woman about the same time the gate slammed shut behind me. She was sitting alone at the end of a long bench, staring up and apparently through a window high out of reach. She was distracted but at least she'd quit crying.

"Miss Berrie?" I announced when I approached.

"Oh of course! It's always the ones with the money!" one of the hookers scoffed.

"I promise she can't satisfy you the way I can."

I recognized the last voice. It belonged to a girl named Victoria I'd helped out of a jam once. "Vicki, I believe you, but this is business. No time for pleasure."

"Your loss," another girl claimed with a shrill laugh.

"Miss Berrie?" I asked again, having yet been unable to draw her attention away from the window.

"I can actually see the sky from here," she said. Her voice was soft and innocent; almost like a child's.

I glanced through the window myself. It was an unusually smog-free night. "Are you a stargazer?" I asked, taking a seat next to her.

"I suppose you could say that. I take the opportunity whenever I can. It reminds me of home. I didn't grow up here."

She finally turned her gaze on me. Her eyes were reddened from crying, but that mattered very little. She was definitely a looker and I could easily understand how she'd come into her profession.

My mind was wandering when I knew better. There was no time to waste. The desk officer told me I had fifteen minutes.

While I formed my first question, I studied her a little more. She was still in her satin nightgown with matching robe and shoes. All nails were trimmed and polished and not a hair was out of place. I'd always prided myself in being able to read people, but for the life of me, I couldn't understand how she could've murdered her roommate; especially in such a violent way. She didn't look the type.

"Why did you tell the police you were responsible for Sadie's murder?" I asked bluntly.

She was looking at me dead-on when she answered. "Because I am."

Unless she'd taken the time to scrub her hands and change her clothes, I highly doubted it. There wasn't a drop of blood on her anywhere. "I don't believe you. Why don't you tell me the truth so I can help you?"

Once again her eyes filled, though didn't run over. "It's my fault she's dead. I should've had him arrested long ago."

I reached inside my coat pocket and retrieved my pad and pencil. "Who are you talking about? The killer? Did you actually see him?"

A tear did escape then, which she quickly swiped away with a finger. "No, but it's obvious he did it! He always said he would. He was so angry the last time we talked. I just never believed he'd go through with it!"

"Miss Berrie, who are you talking about?" I asked again, trying my best to be polite, though the clock was ticking.

"My ex-boyfriend. I broke up with him a couple of months ago and he was so angry. He threatened to get back at me for the way I hurt him, but I didn't have a choice! He was crazy jealous. I couldn't even look at another man without upsetting him. What's sad is that Sadie was the one who convinced me to break up with him."

"Does he have a name?" I was forced to ask.

"Nick. Nick Walker is his name. He lives on Admiral and Park. I knew better than to put that protective order on him. I knew it would just infuriate him! Oh, Sadie, I'm so sorry."

This time, she drew her knees up onto the bench and laid her head down on them as she cried. I hesitated because I always try my best to not get attached to clients. I lay my hand lightly on her shoulder anyway and waited for her sobs to subside.

"Miss Berrie, so you didn't kill Sadie. Why would Nick, when you were the one he was angry with?"

"Oh, that's right." Her soft laugh sounded almost maniacal, which contributed to her being so upset. "You didn't get a good look at her. Not when she was alive anyway. Everyone always claimed we looked alike. We were often told we could be sisters. Twins even."

Ah. I was starting to put this all together. "So you think Nick Walker broke into your apartment and killed your roommate by mistake?"

"It had to be him. I can't think of anyone else who would do something like this!"

Her head came back and I handed her my handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully.

"Then why did you tell the police that you killed her?" I had an idea, but I wanted to hear it from her.

"Because it's my fault, that's why! If I hadn't filled out that legal paperwork if I hadn't started dating him in the first place, none of this would've happened! Sadie warned me, but I wouldn't listen."

There was a time for grief and a time for anger in cases such as these. I could tell the anger part of the process was coming and I didn't think I'd get much out of her after that. My time was about up anyway.

"I'll inform the arresting officer. I'm sure you'll be released soon."

Her head was back on her knees and her words were muffled. "I don't care. I deserve to stay here. I don't want to go home, to see the…where she…."

"I understand," I interrupted. "But you can't stay here. Taxpayers and all that. I'll be sure your building's maid service cleans up…the mess before you get home."

"Thank you," I heard in almost a whisper as I stood up.

I waited to see if she had anything else to say, but after a few seconds of silence, I headed toward the exit.

"What's your name?"

The softly-spoken question caused a slight grin to cross my face. "Ben," I replied. "Ben Noble."

"Time's up, Detective," a police officer was informing me before he unlocked the door.

I hurried out of the station, ignoring the catcalls and flirtatious remarks that followed me down the hall. I had to make it to Admiral and Park before it got too late.


	3. Primary Targets

The rusted street sign showed I was at the corner of Admiral and Park. On one side was a deli, and on the other a rundown apartment building. This type of place was right up my alley. No one flaunted anything because they didn't own much of anything. These types of people worked hard to provide for their families and had very little to show for it. If they owned a car, it was at least ten years old and a junker. But it was quiet here - some distance away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

I parked in the nearest space and entered the building. There was a collection of call buttons in the front lobby and I read through the list of residents, easily finding the hastily written name I was looking for. I pressed the button but received no answer.

There was more than one way into this joint and I eased into the corner and waited for someone with a key. In about ten minutes, my patience paid off and a man came out. He either didn't notice my presence or he didn't care and I easily caught the door and entered.

I took the stairs three flights up and discovered the room I was looking for at the end of the hallway. There was peeling wallpaper on the walls and the floors could use a good scrubbing. This particular floor smelled of fried food and mildew, which reminded me of home.

I knocked and waited. Soon, there was a jingling sound signifying the security chain was being put in place just before a face appeared in the crack of the open door.

"Nick Walker?" I asked in a polite tone. "My name is Detective Ben Noble. I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"Beat it flat foot," the young man replied. "I don't talk to cops."

"I'm not with the police force. I'm a private investigator and I'd like to discuss your involvement with Miss Ami Berrie." Might as well reveal my intentions upfront or else I'd have a door slammed in my face.

He hesitated a few seconds before unlocking the door and swinging it wide. He was slightly taller than me with a mop of unkempt wavy brown hair on top of his head. His eyes were blue with a decent scar beneath the left one. He was about 170 pounds and fairly young. Twenty-one, twenty-two, maybe.

"May I come in?" I asked as politely as I could.

"What for?" Nick responded, straightening his shoulders before crossing his arms.

This might not go as well as I'd hoped.

"We can talk in the hall. I'm sure your neighbors would love to hear some fresh gossip."

His blue eyes narrowed before he allowed me in. I immediately took note of the surroundings. The furnishings were simple but looked comfortable enough. Like most of these apartments, the kitchen was to the right and a single bedroom was straight down the hall. There were empty beer bottles lining the pass-through, as well as blood-stained rags in a trash can nearby: What looked to me like fresh blood.

"Have anything to drink?" I asked, hoping to distract him.

Surprise was revealed on his face but he seemed to be more accepting of my presence afterward. "I have beer."

"Sure, I'll take one." I was pleased when he stepped behind the wall and I snuck over to retrieve one of the rags. I stuffed it deep into my coat pocket just before Nick again appeared.

I took a long drink from the bottle he handed me and allowed my eyes to wander. No artwork to speak of or décor of any kind for that matter. This apartment was a place for him to sleep and eat, and that was about all. But what did he do when he wasn't home? And whose blood was on those rags? The lab would tell me, but I really wanted to know now. Once Miss Berrie was released, she could still be in danger.

"What about Ami?" he asked once I'd finished. "Is she okay? Has something happened to her?"

Interesting, although I couldn't judge his sincerity. It could be a ploy to get me off track. I took another swig of beer and set the bottle on a nearby table.

"Miss Berrie is fine. Her roommate - not so much. Earlier tonight, someone broke into their apartment and bashed the back of her head in. She's dead."

"Sadie's dead? Huh. That's too bad, but let me guess. You're here because Ami pointed the finger at me."

So far, so good. I hadn't detected any sign of temper or malice. Not yet. Maybe I should test Miss Berrie's theory.

"Where were you at approximately ten o'clock this evening?" I asked him, taking a few steps toward a window.

"Drinking," he answered as he followed me.

"Where did the bloody rags come from?" I asked while glancing out a single dirty pane. There was a landing out there as well as a fire escape. Good to know in case I needed to make a hasty exit. It would also serve as a way for Nick to get in without being noticed at the front.

"From the other guy. A friend. We got in a fight."

At that point, I turned to study his expressions. He was annoyed, possibly starting to get a little angry.

"You beat someone up and then invited them home?" That didn't make any sense. He had to be lying.

"Like I said," Nick replied, as he headed back into the kitchen. "He was a friend."

"With friends like that, who needs enemies?" I quipped while listening carefully. I could hear utensils being shuffled around and a door open and shut. Then suddenly, without warning a baseball bat swung by my head. I dodged just in time and quickly backed out of range. Nick's eyes were dark and wide and I began to see what Miss Berrie had been talking about.

Without a word, he attacked again. This time I had to duck and spin to avoid being pummeled, although when I stood back up, he struck my back with enough force that it knocked me to the floor.

This type of attack happened more often than I'd prefer. I wasn't the police and suspects knew my authority was limited. I didn't like to use force and only did whenever I had no choice. This was apparently one of those moments. I pulled my revolver from my belt and rolled over to point it at him. I was just in time to stop another blow and hurriedly rose to my feet, keeping my .38 aimed at his chest.

"If you're innocent, I'm afraid this type of behavior isn't very convincing," I advised while backing toward the door.

"Get out!"

I wasn't finished with this suspect, but he claimed to have an alibi. I'd check that out next.

"This isn't over. You will answer my questions," I warned him before I reached behind me for the door handle. "Don't leave town. I'll be back."

The bat was still in his hand, but at least he was staying put. I shut the door myself and took the stairs down. There was a bar a couple of blocks away. I'd visit there before dropping off the evidence I'd obtained at the lab. Depending on what I learned, I'd return to see Nick Walker; except this time, I'd have a couple of police officers and a warrant with me.


	4. Back to Square One

"I don't get it," I said, annoyance and frustration clearly revealed in my tone. "He has the motive and the opportunity."

"But you don't have the evidence to support your claim," Quinn reminded me over coffee the next morning.

I gripped the mug, warming my hands. It was a chilly morning and rain had begun to fall the second we stepped into the diner.

"He attacked me with a baseball bat! He's obviously unsettled. I think Ami's right. I think he snuck into her apartment and killed Sadie by mistake."

Quinn sipped at his own cup while regarding me carefully. As usual, he would allow me the opportunity to rattle on until I began to realize where my reasoning had gone awry.

"Just because his friend confirmed his alibi, doesn't mean he's innocent," I continued. "And just because those bloodstains don't match the victim's, doesn't mean…" I sighed and took another sip, coming close to scalding my tongue. "Crap," I announced and not due to the pain.

"Looks like we've got to start all over," Quinn pointed out. He had far more experience with this type of letdown and was revealing an extreme amount of patience. "And here's more good news: Dunn phoned me this morning. The murder weapon has Miss Berrie's prints all over it, although I told him that's logical. She lives there."

"That's unfortunate," I replied before blowing into my mug. "But what was her motive? Why would she wish to kill her roommate?"

"Jealousy, perhaps? Was there a love triangle going on? What about this ex-boyfriend? Was he ever involved with Miss Boone? Or perhaps it wasn't relationship troubles. Perhaps it was something more professional. Was there animosity between them because of their work? Was one paid more than the other? Perhaps Sadie was receiving better jobs with more pay. Greed can easily be a motive. There are many questions that need answers, Ben."

Mr. Quinn was right. I'd jump to conclusions and I knew better. I needed to obtain all the facts of this case before passing judgment, although my gut was telling me that Nick was involved somehow.

"I'm going to return to the jail and try to get something else out of Miss Berrie," I announced, before reaching for some change in my pocket to drop for the coffee.

"Oh, that reminds me," Quinn cut in, reaching into his own coat pocket to hand me a business card. "She's no longer there. Her employer posted her bail early this morning. That's his card."

I read the embossed print aloud. "Steven Alpati; Modeling Agency and Fashion Design." I traced my finger over the lettering which stood out above the surface of the paper. "Fancy," I stated.

"More money than sense, I suspect, although it will be difficult to gain an audience with him. I hear he has his own security. I'll talk to Dunn and see what he has to say about him. In the meanwhile, I believe Miss Berrie has returned home and you should be able to catch her there."

"Excellent," I stated before hopping up.

"Here," Quinn told me, before handing me a couple of bills. "I need the car. Take a cab."

There was a slight change at the Ivory Towers apartment buildings. When I stepped off the elevator, I was met by two goons – complete with oversized muscles, sunglasses, and square jawlines.

"State your business," one of them told me with an accent I attributed to Sicily. Perhaps the coast.

"Detective Ben Noble to see Miss Berrie," I told him while casually placing my hands into my pants pockets.

The other Italian stepped up closer probably in an attempt to intimidate me. "Miss Berrie isn't seeing anyone today."

"She'll see me," I informed him rather confidently. "Just ask her."

"Stay here, runt," the first one told me before entering the apartment - without even knocking first, I noticed.

"Hey. How's the weather up there?" I asked the one who stayed behind. My guess was that he was well over six feet tall. Possibly closer to seven.

All I received for a reply was a grunt and I decided not to push my luck. There was a bulge at his waist I suspected had more firepower than my revolver.

"Get out of my way, you big lug!"

I recognized her voice although not exactly in that tone. She sounded annoyed, although when she stepped through the door, she was smiling. "Please come in Mr. Noble. It's good to see you again."

I returned her friendly smile and glanced up at the thugs guarding her door. "Told you so," I couldn't help but say when I passed by them. Once inside and away from the entrance, I gained her attention. "Who posted the gorillas by the door?"

"Oh, don't mind them. Mr. Alpati was worried about my safety." She smiled graciously before offering me a seat on one of her purple divans. It may be expensive, but was the most uncomfortable thing I'd ever sat on. Just like everything in this apartment, it was all about appearances. Suddenly, I felt extremely underdressed and really wished I would've at least pressed my shirt that morning. I wrapped my coat more tightly about me and turned around to look where the body had been lying just last night.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" she pointed out. "How they got all that out of the carpet, I mean. I really was starting to think Mr. Alpati would be forced to have it replaced."

There was that name again. It was time for me to do some digging and I mentally prepared my shovel. "Steven Alpati seems to be a decent employer. He provides your income and security, but what else?"

"Almost everything! I couldn't have made it in this town without his help. You see, I come from a small place nobody has even heard of before. I got my picture in the paper a little over a year ago for being crowned – promise not to laugh – Corn Queen."

I had to bite my lip to keep such a promise.

"Corn is the number one cash crop in my hometown and at the end of each harvest is a festival. During the festival, one lucky girl is named Corn Queen." She chuckled a little herself, though I managed to hold mine in. "Apparently, Mr. Alpati saw my picture and sent for me. After one interview with him, I signed a contract and before I knew it, I was living here in the city and traveling the world! As long as I'm working, all my bills are paid for, including my clothing, meals, and travel expenses."

"You're from the country?" I asked because it wasn't obvious from the sound of her voice. I would've never guessed it.

"I suppose you're surprised by my lack of a southern drawl? It's nearly gone now. Mr. Alpati paid for speech and voice training as well."

"I see," I stated simply. She certainly had everything going for her. Well, except for the obvious. "I went to see Nick last night," I informed her, the news immediately sobering her features.

"Yes, I know. Mr. Alpati informed me."

Interesting. How did Steven Alpati, Fashion Designer, know my business? Perhaps his influence reached further than just the fashion industry.

"You didn't get much out of him, did you?"

"No," I admitted, though I wasn't about to mention why my back was so sore. "He didn't have much to say about you, although mentioning you sure did push some buttons. You were right. He has a quick temper."

"Yes, he does," she agreed with a frown and a look of melancholy which led me to believe she was reliving a painful memory. It was a few seconds before a smile once again appeared. "Were you able to connect him to the murder in any way?"

I hated to disappoint her but I really had no choice. I needed more information from her and this was the only way to get it. "His alibi checks out." She looked disappointed and confused. I knew the feeling. "Who else would possibly want Sadie or you dead?"

"No one! Honestly! We stay so busy, we don't have much of a social life. We were only home for a few short days to have some fittings and tailoring done for a big show coming up in Paris. Nick is the only boyfriend I've had since high school and I met him through a mutual friend."

"Oh, really?" I plucked my notepad from my suit coat. "Who would that be?"

"His name is Arnie Jenkins, but I'm not sure he'll be much help. You see, he's…a special person. I mean, he's not like you or me. I believe he was diagnosed with some type of neurodevelopmental disorder. He's a big fan of mine and used to write me the sweetest letters. He lives in a nursing home where Nick used to work and he would deliver Arnie's letters to me. That's how we met."

"Where is this nursing home located?" I asked, prepared to write it down.

"On Cherry Street, past the marketplace. Mr. Noble, be nice to him. He truly is a sweet guy."

"I will be, don't worry," I assured her.

There was no reason for me to stay, although I wanted to. Even though I initially felt out of place and uncomfortable amongst such luxury, sitting with her seemed to take all that away. Simply listening to her speak had put me at ease. "Try to stay in for the time being. If you must go, don't leave without the gorillas," I suggested with a wink.

"I won't," she promised with a smile. "Good luck, Ben."

The fact she called me by my first name did not go unnoticed. I practically skipped my way out the door. "Have a banana, fellas! It's a beautiful day!" I mentioned in passing just before I punched the elevator button. The doors opened immediately and I glided in, waving goodbye to the confused comrades just before the elevator closed.


	5. A Simple Mind

I'd noticed the Shady Lane nursing facility before and how perfectly aligned the rows of oak trees stood on its lawn. The building was old, probably built in the 1910s but it had been well taken care of and appeared to have a fresh coat of yellow paint on its exterior.

I stepped in and immediately was confronted with a strong odor of bleach. It could be worse, I reasoned. The lady behind the reception desk was a significantly large size and wore an expression that made me wonder if she'd eaten sour grapes or something. She glared at me through the open sliding window.

"Can I help you?"

Her voice matched her looks perfectly.

"I'm here to see Mr. Arnie Jenkins," I informed her politely, adding my most charming smile afterward. Something which didn't affect her expression in the least, I hate to admit.

"Are you family or friend?"

"Friend," I told her. No harm in stretching the truth a little.

"It's recreation time. Everyone is in the gymnasium at the end of the first hall."

I got the strong impression that she disliked her job and wanted me to leave her alone as quickly as possible.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, young lady," I told her, leaning in just a little. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

Her focus was no longer on me, but on the fashion magazine that was open on the desk. Strange coincidence that the full-page travel ad she was looking at featured a photo of Ami Berrie. "Please do not lean in through the window."

I was off my game. She was a tough nut to crack. Maybe I'd try again another time.

The gymnasium was about the size of Ami's living room. It had a chipped light blue linoleum floor and whitewashed cinder block walls. Scattered about were residents involved in games of checkers, some in wheelchairs playing badminton, while the less fortunate were simply roaming about. It was a few minutes before my presence was noticed, but soon an attendant found me. She pointed out Arnie Jenkins who was busy painting something abstract at a corner easel.

I approached him slowly, not knowing what to expect. His appearance was typical for someone with his disabilities and his hand shook a little as he applied a glob of red paint onto his masterpiece.

"Arnie?" I calmly asked. "My name is Ben. I'm a friend of Ami Berrie's."

He looked at me cautiously at first, but as soon as I said Ami's name he dropped his brush and rushed over to hug me tightly.

"You're a friend of Ami's?" he asked excitedly. "I love Ami! I write her letters and letters. She writes to me too but not many times. I'm going to marry Miss Ami, then we'll have lots of fun together."

All of this was said while his surprisingly powerful arms were wrapped around my middle. I eased out of his enthusiastic embrace slowly, but he wouldn't let go of my hand.

"Miss Ami is special, isn't she?"

"Oh yes!" His already large green eyes were widened with excitement. "She's so pretty. I want you to take me to her so I can see her."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Immediately upon my refusal, Arnie dropped my hand and began to reveal a rapid change of mood.

"She doesn't like me. She thinks I'm ugly. I don't want to see her ever!"

Suddenly without warning, he backhanded the easel and sent the brushes, paint, and wet canvas crashing to the floor. An attendant rushed over to clean up the mess and another to try and calm Arnie down.

"What did you say to him?" the second one asked me bluntly. "We don't tolerate any type of rude behavior in this facility. If you continue to upset our residents, I'll have to ask you to leave."

Her blond hair was so tightly pulled back into a bun that it was drawing the corner of her eyes back as well. I imagined it would give someone a headache, so I attributed her sour attitude to that.

I could argue with her and tell her exactly what had transpired but decided that would take too much time. Instead, I apologized to her and told her I'd be more careful. That answer seemed to satisfy her and she left me alone with Arnie, though was keeping a constant eye on me from the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Arnie," I told him gently. "Miss Ami is getting ready to fly to Paris for a fashion show. Isn't that exciting?"

His mood changed quicker than you could say, Jack Robinson.

"Oh yes, Paris! She wrote to me a letter and said she wanted to go to Paris. I want to go with her, but I have to stay and help take care of my friends."

"That's right, Arnie," I replied, adding a pat to his shoulder. He immediately pulled away from the unwanted contact and I stepped back to give him more space. His prior body tension seemed to relax when I did. "I bet you have a lot of friends here. Don't you have a friend named Nick?"

"Nick! Nick Walker!" he kept repeating over and over. "I miss Nick, but he had to go to another place to help more people like me. He visits me on Thursdays. Yes, Thursdays. Is today Thursday? I'm his special friend. He told me that one time." The announcement was a proud moment for Arnie, and he danced a little jig once he'd shared his news.

"Was Nick always nice to you?" I asked once Arnie had settled down.

"Oh yes! He would bring me chocolate and coloring books with 72 crayons, not 24. 72, yes 72! It had silver and gold colors in it! I keep them in my room. Do you want to see them?"

"Maybe another time," I replied. "That was awfully nice of Nick."

Nice wasn't an adjective I'd associate with Nick Walker, but maybe my first impression of him wasn't accurate. I could've caught him in a bad mood, although my bad moods didn't usually cause me to attack someone with a baseball bat. "Is Nick nice to everyone?" I asked, trying to secure a better picture of him than the one I'd already created.

"Yes, yes. Everybody likes Nick but not that Mr. Steve. No, not Mr. Steve."

Apparently becoming bored with the conversation, Arnie picked up his brush again and drug out a large amount of green paint from a Styrofoam cup. His tongue stuck out as he did it, which revealed his focus was solely on his painting and not me. I had a feeling I needed to ask my questions with more haste or else I was going to lose him.

"Who is Mr. Steve?" I asked while Arnie slapped the green paint onto the already saturated canvas.

"Mr. Steve came here one time," Arnie began, his words slowly drawn out as if he were losing focus.

"And what did he do?" I waited several seconds for an answer as a blob or red was mixed with the green to create a color I would describe as mud.

"Him and Nick yelled at each other and then Mr. Steve hit Nick in the face. I was so mad at Mr. Steve, but Nick told me it was okay."

I needed a bit more information and wondered how far I could push Arnie. Were his responses even reliable?

"Why would Nick say it's okay?" I prodded. "You know it's not okay to hit people."

"Yes, Nurse Kim tells me that but sometimes I want to."

Understandable, I silently agreed. I repeated my question twice before Arnie answered.

He grunted as if he was becoming annoyed. "Nick says sometimes families fight when they love each other. That's not right. I don't want a family. Arnie is good without one."

I wasn't going to push my luck any longer. I had enough information for the time-being as well as another lead to follow. My next stop would be City Hall.

"Thank you, Arnie. You're a good man. I'll be seeing you."

I didn't think he was paying attention to me, but I heard him whisper "good man" before I left him.I'd noticed the Shady Lane nursing facility before and how perfectly aligned the rows of oak trees stood on its lawn. The building was old, probably built in the 1910s but it had been well taken care of and appeared to have a fresh coat of yellow paint on its exterior.

I stepped in and immediately was confronted with a strong odor of bleach. It could be worse, I reasoned. The lady behind the reception desk was a significantly large size and wore an expression that made me wonder if she'd eaten sour grapes or something. She glared at me through the open sliding window.

"Can I help you?"

Her voice matched her looks perfectly.

"I'm here to see Mr. Arnie Jenkins," I informed her politely, adding my most charming smile afterward. Something which didn't affect her expression in the least, I hate to admit.

"Are you family or friend?"

"Friend," I told her. No harm in stretching the truth a little.

"It's recreation time. Everyone is in the gymnasium at the end of the first hall."

I got the strong impression that she disliked her job and wanted me to leave her alone as quickly as possible.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, young lady," I told her, leaning in just a little. "I hope you have a wonderful day."

Her focus was no longer on me, but on the fashion magazine that was open on the desk. Strange coincidence that the full-page travel ad she was looking at featured a photo of Ami Berrie. "Please do not lean in through the window."

I was off my game. She was a tough nut to crack. Maybe I'd try again another time.

The gymnasium was about the size of Ami's living room. It had a chipped light blue linoleum floor and whitewashed cinder block walls. Scattered about were residents involved in games of checkers, some in wheelchairs playing badminton, while the less fortunate were simply roaming about. It was a few minutes before my presence was noticed, but soon an attendant found me. She pointed out Arnie Jenkins who was busy painting something abstract at a corner easel.

I approached him slowly, not knowing what to expect. His appearance was typical for someone with his disabilities and his hand shook a little as he applied a glob of red paint onto his masterpiece.

"Arnie?" I calmly asked. "My name is Ben. I'm a friend of Ami Berrie's."

He looked at me cautiously at first, but as soon as I said Ami's name he dropped his brush and rushed over to hug me tightly.

"You're a friend of Ami's?" he asked excitedly. "I love Ami! I write her letters and letters. She writes to me too but not many times. I'm going to marry Miss Ami, then we'll have lots of fun together."

All of this was said while his surprisingly powerful arms were wrapped around my middle. I eased out of his enthusiastic embrace slowly, but he wouldn't let go of my hand.

"Miss Ami is special, isn't she?"

"Oh yes!" His already large green eyes were widened with excitement. "She's so pretty. I want you to take me to her so I can see her."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

Immediately upon my refusal, Arnie dropped my hand and began to reveal a rapid change of mood.

"She doesn't like me. She thinks I'm ugly. I don't want to see her ever!"

Suddenly without warning, he backhanded the easel and sent the brushes, paint, and wet canvas crashing to the floor. An attendant rushed over to clean up the mess and another to try and calm Arnie down.

"What did you say to him?" the second one asked me bluntly. "We don't tolerate any type of rude behavior in this facility. If you continue to upset our residents, I'll have to ask you to leave."

Her blond hair was so tightly pulled back into a bun that it was drawing the corner of her eyes back as well. I imagined it would give someone a headache, so I attributed her sour attitude to that.

I could argue with her and tell her exactly what had transpired but decided that would take too much time. Instead, I apologized to her and told her I'd be more careful. That answer seemed to satisfy her and she left me alone with Arnie, though was keeping a constant eye on me from the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Arnie," I told him gently. "Miss Ami is getting ready to fly to Paris for a fashion show. Isn't that exciting?"

His mood changed quicker than you could say, Jack Robinson.

"Oh yes, Paris! She wrote to me a letter and said she wanted to go to Paris. I want to go with her, but I have to stay and help take care of my friends."

"That's right, Arnie," I replied, adding a pat to his shoulder. He immediately pulled away from the unwanted contact and I stepped back to give him more space. His prior body tension seemed to relax when I did. "I bet you have a lot of friends here. Don't you have a friend named Nick?"

"Nick! Nick Walker!" he kept repeating over and over. "I miss Nick, but he had to go to another place to help more people like me. He visits me on Thursdays. Yes, Thursdays. Is today Thursday? I'm his special friend. He told me that one time." The announcement was a proud moment for Arnie, and he danced a little jig once he'd shared his news.

"Was Nick always nice to you?" I asked once Arnie had settled down.

"Oh yes! He would bring me chocolate and coloring books with 72 crayons, not 24. 72, yes 72! It had silver and gold colors in it! I keep them in my room. Do you want to see them?"

"Maybe another time," I replied. "That was awfully nice of Nick."

Nice wasn't an adjective I'd associate with Nick Walker, but maybe my first impression of him wasn't accurate. I could've caught him in a bad mood, although my bad moods didn't usually cause me to attack someone with a baseball bat. "Is Nick nice to everyone?" I asked, trying to secure a better picture of him than the one I'd already created.

"Yes, yes. Everybody likes Nick but not that Mr. Steve. No, not Mr. Steve."

Apparently becoming bored with the conversation, Arnie picked up his brush again and drug out a large amount of green paint from a Styrofoam cup. His tongue stuck out as he did it, which revealed his focus was solely on his painting and not me. I had a feeling I needed to ask my questions with more haste or else I was going to lose him.

"Who is Mr. Steve?" I asked while Arnie slapped the green paint onto the already saturated canvas.

"Mr. Steve came here one time," Arnie began, his words slowly drawn out as if he were losing focus.

"And what did he do?" I waited several seconds for an answer as a blob or red was mixed with the green to create a color I would describe as mud.

"Him and Nick yelled at each other and then Mr. Steve hit Nick in the face. I was so mad at Mr. Steve, but Nick told me it was okay."

I needed a bit more information and wondered how far I could push Arnie. Were his responses even reliable?

"Why would Nick say it's okay?" I prodded. "You know it's not okay to hit people."

"Yes, Nurse Kim tells me that but sometimes I want to."

Understandable, I silently agreed. I repeated my question twice before Arnie answered.

He grunted as if he was becoming annoyed. "Nick says sometimes families fight when they love each other. That's not right. I don't want a family. Arnie is good without one."

I wasn't going to push my luck any longer. I had enough information for the time-being as well as another lead to follow. My next stop would be City Hall.

"Thank you, Arnie. You're a good man. I'll be seeing you."

I didn't think he was paying attention to me, but I heard him whisper "good man" before I left him.


	6. To Each Their Own

The Historical Archive in City Hall was located in the basement. I'd visited here off and on throughout my career and not once had been denied a request. Perhaps it was the steak sandwich I passed off to the clerk each time I visited. What essentially constituted a bribe always seemed to pay off. I could peruse the archive at my own pace and even borrow information.

I headed straight to the birth records and searched for the name, Nick Walker. There were plenty of Walkers in the city and I turned the page, scanning it with my index finger. About three-quarters of the way down, Nick's name appeared. I was very close when I guessed he was twenty-one or two. He had just turned twenty-two a month ago as a matter of fact. He was born at City Hospital and his mother's name was Misha Walker. I didn't find the signature of a father, however.

Curious, I searched the volume for a Misha Walker and located her time of birth as well as her untimely death. She had died fairly young from a head injury sustained while being assaulted. An accompanying article stated the mugger, Dan Peele, had been captured, jailed, and was still waiting out his sentence on death row.

I'd been hoping to reveal the relation of any man named Steve, but could find no record of one.

Frustrated, I returned the archive to its original place and left the building. I was going to have to visit with Nick Walker again, although this time I'd do so in a public place.

Arnie mentioned that Nick was working with people like him, and I took a chance in hopping in a cab that would take me downtown to another facility I knew of. This place was not as tidy or clean as the first. Its lawn needed a good trimming and the exterior could use a fresh coat of paint. However, the woman at the front desk was kind and I was grateful. Nick was employed here, but his shift didn't start for another hour. I told her I'd wait and took a seat in the lobby.

He arrived just a few minutes before his workday, saw me waiting for him, and rolled his eyes. "Don't you have anything better to do?" he asked me before clocking in.

I smiled regardless of his annoyance and stood. "I have a couple of more questions and if you'll answer them, you may keep Miss Berrie out of the gas chamber."

Nick thoughtfully eyed me, apparently weighed his options, and blew out a frustrated sigh. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Who is Steve?"

He frowned and his brows furrowed as soon as I asked. "Where did you get that name from? Who have you been talking to?"

Bingo. Now we were getting somewhere.

"I'd rather keep my sources private if you know what I mean." There was no point in telling him Arnie revealed this information, even if he was nice to him. "Is he a relative of yours? An uncle maybe?"

"No," Nick replied before he walked off. I followed him a couple of steps behind. "If you want to talk, you'll have to keep up. I have work to do."

I had to wait to ask anything further since Nick Walker seemed to be the most popular orderly in the building, especially with some of the older women. I wondered if he realized these older ladies were actually flirting with him.

"There now, Mrs. Billings," he told one of them after he had tucked a handmade blanket beneath her legs.

"You sure know how to warm up an old lady," she told him, her voice warbling.

I didn't think much of the comment until she reached around and actually pinched Nick's ass. The young man didn't even flinch.

"Mrs. Billings, I thought I told you the other day to keep your hands to yourself."

She cackled, showing empty gums. There wasn't a single tooth in her head.

"You're a married woman. What will Bernard say?" Nick reminded her.

"Oh phooey," the old woman replied along with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Bernard wouldn't know I was having an affair if he saw it with his own eyes. He's got that Old Timer's disease. You know that. Meet me in my room tonight and I'll show you what an experienced woman can do."

Nick had maintained a calm and professional attitude while I was blushing furiously and chose to step away. I didn't want to hear any more. I heard Nick laugh once before he left her and I quickly caught up with him.

"Does that happen often?" I asked.

"With her? Always. Some of the others are playful but not as forward as Mrs. Billings."

Nick checked in with the duty nurse before grabbing a shiny metal bedpan. I definitely did not want to be around to watch what he was going to do with it.

"Steve is my father," he abruptly informed me as we made our way down a dark corridor.

Interesting. They must've had a falling out. "But I didn't see a father on your birth record."

"That's because he adopted me. My mom died when I was nine and I was sent to an orphanage. Mr. Alpati came soon after that and chose me to be his son."

Wait. "You're talking about Steven Alpati? The fashion designer?"

"I can see you're a little confused," Nick replied a bit sarcastically. "Probably because my adoptive father is rich and here I am about to relieve an invalid old man."

"Are you two at odds?" I asked, immediately beginning to wonder how Ami had come into the picture. Was Alpati disappointed Nick chose her as a companion? How was that possible? She was an independent and beautiful young woman. Any man should consider himself lucky to secure her affections. Or was it something else?

"You can say that. Actually, there are a lot of things we don't agree on. This job is one of them."

"I see," I responded. His answer made much more sense. "So Miss Berrie had nothing to do with it?"

"Of course not. Dad loves Ami. She makes him a load of money and that's the most important thing."

It came to me as no surprise that Steven Alpati valued money above everything else. He was listed as one of the top earners in the city. I'd often found that those with a lot of money, simply want more of it. They are never satisfied.

"I don't understand what it is about your job that disappoints your father."

Nick looked at me as if I were as dense as a rock. "Wait here for a minute or two and I'll show you."

I understood his remark well enough. "That's okay. We can talk another time." I quickly backpedaled to the opposite wall where it was safe.

"Have it your way," Nick told me before he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

I had asked the cabbie to keep the meter running but realized my bill was steadily mounting. I now had to have him take me to the opposite side of town where Alpati's designing business was.

I quickly added up the money I pulled from my wallet and came to the quick conclusion that perhaps it was time to take the city bus.


	7. The Weather Isn't the Only Thing Getting Cold

My gut was telling me Nick didn't kill Sadie; neither by mistake or intent. Sure, he may have a violent temper, but he'd never had a run-in with the police and no criminal record.

I wasn't at a dead end yet, but I was closing in on one. There had to be something I was missing or else I was simply wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

Whenever I was in a jam, I'd always consult my mentor. After a phone call to the office, our secretary informed me that Mr. Quinn was at police headquarters questioning a potential new client. I hopped on a bus and arrived in no time, cleared a seat on a bench, and waited for him there.

The rain had stopped but it was still bitterly cold for April. I hoped Quinn wasn't going to take long, although the view was enjoyable. I always appreciated the way the city looked after a good rinse. Everything seemed so much brighter, except for the streets, of course. The puddles on it appeared luminescent due to the presence of leaked engine oil.

"Ben!"

I turned round to see Mr. Quinn approaching.

"I called the office and Iris told me you needed to see me. Stumped?"

I used the tail of my trench coat to wipe the bench free of water and offered Quinn a seat. When I informed him of everything I'd discovered so far, he leaned forward onto his knees and appeared thoughtful.

"Either your intuitions about Nick Walker are correct or Miss Berrie has been lying to you. How can he be charitable and cruel at the same time?"

My brows arched. Sometimes I wondered if Mr. Quinn was as gullible as he seemed. He certainly didn't see people the same way I did. Of course, someone could display a variety of these traits, although it all depended on their taste in liquor and how often they imbibed. After all, when Nick attacked me in his apartment, he had mentioned he'd just left the bar.

"It's called alcoholism," I informed him as respectfully as I could. "I think Nick has a drinking problem."

"A literal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Quinn referenced the famous literary characters. For once, I actually knew who he was talking about. If the man wasn't working, he was reading. He often tied book characters to his advice in one way or another. "Then he could be everything Miss Berrie claims he is."

"Perhaps," I agreed, "but a drinking problem doesn't make him a murderer."

"It sounds to me like you need to form a better picture of Mr. Walker before ruling him out," Quinn counseled. "Perhaps from someone whose opinion is unbiased?"

I did have to argue with that. "Ami is intelligent and I highly doubt she'd allow her personal feelings to influence her judgment."

Quinn twisted his neck to gaze at me as if I'd lost my mind. "She's a woman. Of course, she does."

There was no point in arguing further. Mr. Quinn's entire generation was stuck in the dark ages where a woman's highest ambitions were to become mothers and homemakers.

"Regardless of that, I think I need to get a different opinion of Nick, and who better to get it from other than his own father?"

"Good luck with that," Quinn warned me. "Mr. Alpati protects his privacy and his estate is substantial. If you can't make it past the security gate and choose to find other options, let me prepare you: The man likes dogs. The bigger, the better."

I knew exactly what Quinn meant by his comment. On too many occasions for my own comfort, I'd been forced to flee an interview when a suspect sicced their guard dogs onto me. So far, I hadn't gotten a scratch, although a few of my trousers had required mending.

"I'll take your advice and try my best to get permission before entering," I promised.

"Good." Quinn informed me while standing. "We just got hired for another job, by the way," he announced while buttoning his coat. "I'll need to borrow your camera."

"It should be in the glove department," I told him. "Let me guess. An angry wife suspects her husband is cheating on her?" Quinn knew how much I hated doing that sort of investigation.

"Hey, whatever pays the bills! I'll handle it. Let me know how it goes with Alpati. I'm curious."

"Sure thing," I told him as he walked away.

A bus pulled up in front of me and since I was sitting on the riders' bench, the driver asked if I was getting on. I told him no since I figured pulling up to the Alpati Estate on a city bus wouldn't improve his opinion of me. However, I didn't have enough cash for another cab.

I pulled a nickel out of my pocket and dropped it into a nearby payphone. It was time to call in a favor.

Iris was a blonde doll with a sketchy past. She'd come from a good family in my neighborhood, although during her teen years got involved with drugs. Her go-to high had been heroin and it had taken months to get her off the stuff. Her parents had constantly contacted me to track her down and bring her back home. Finally, after six months of sobriety, I got her a job at the office and she quickly advanced to become Quinn's personal secretary. She was smart and knew how to handle herself.

It was Iris whom I called for a ride. As a reward for a year of sobriety, her parents had given her a car. It was used, but it was better than not having one at all.

"Need a ride?" she asked as soon as I got in.

Whenever she was clean, Iris had a bubbly personality. She was good-looking with shoulder-length blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and a nice figure. I think both of our parents secretly hoped that someday we'd get together, but I considered Iris more like a sibling and I'm pretty sure she shared the same opinion of me.

"Take me to the Alpati Estate," I requested.

"Ooooo," she teased while glancing over her shoulder to check traffic. "Going toe to toe with the wealthy. I'm impressed."

She was a reasonably safe driver, although made her way around too slowly for my taste.

"Can I drive?" I asked which came as no surprise. Always with Iris, it was the same thing. I knew her answer before she even said it.

"Absolutely not! Just sit back, relax, and let me handle the complications. You look as if you've got enough on your mind."

She knew me as well. "Does it show?"

"No," Iris answered before looking at me strangely. "Wait. Is that a gray hair?"

Immediately I rummaged through her handbag for a mirror to view my reflection.

"You idiot," she laughed. "I was only joking, and who said it was okay to go through my bag?"

"Don't do things like that to me!" I playfully complained. "I'm too sensitive to be toyed with." I ran my fingers along my scalp for good measure.

"You know what they say," Iris continued her banter. "Male pattern baldness is hereditary. By the way, isn't your granddad bald?"

This time I called her out on the inaccuracy of her joke. "It's the mother's side that counts." I stuck my tongue out at her for good measure.

"Hm. You seem awfully concerned with your looks all of a sudden. I never knew you cared. Unless…" She paused to take a right onto Rockefeller Drive which would take us to the Alpati Estate. Already, the homes were becoming more luxurious.

Iris glanced my way a couple of times before she finished her thought. I wasn't sure what she was looking at unless I had something on my face.

"No, Ben. Don't tell me. Not again! You've got a crush on her don't you?"

"What?" I feigned innocence. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Don't be so square! You know she's way out of your league. You don't stand a chance!"

It took me a moment to figure out her meaning, but when I did, I pretended to be in utter denial. "Are you talking about Ami Berrie?"

She looked back at me so that I could watch how well she could roll her eyes. "Of course I am. She's not only gorgeous, but she's also wealthy. You're such an easy target and always getting attached to the wrong kind of women."

I did understand her then. She was speaking of a past client I had fallen for, only to discover that she was guilty of murdering her husband. I hadn't even known she was married. Some investigator I was. After that fiasco, it took me a while to convince Quinn I would never become involved with another client.

"Let's not bring that up again," I strongly suggested. "Besides, isn't that Alpati's place ahead?"

"Looks like it, although I've never been up this way. I have seen photos of it in magazines and I'm pretty sure that's it. Do you want me to pull in?"

I spied out the windshield toward the gate, which was presently being guarded by a single man I recognized as one of the bodyguards who'd been outside Ami Berrie's apartment.

"Nah," I told her. "I'll walk from here, but don't leave. I have the suspicion this will be a short visit. I may be exiting on a dead run."

I opened the door and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Iris leaned over to roll down the passenger side window. "I told you I wasn't going to sew up any more of your trousers and I meant it!"

"But you're a woman!" I replied, knowing full well I was about to intentionally irritate her, but that's how it was between us. "Isn't that what all women do? Sew? And take care of their men?"

"Go to hell, Ben Noble."

I smiled at her just to be sure I still had a ride.

"Go on," she insisted while pitifully shaking her head. "I'll wait."


	8. The Rich Only Get Richer

So far, so good. I had no trouble with the guard at the gate. The pair of Dobermans I'd encountered were intimidating, yet their handler hadn't yet released them. My trousers were safe for the time being.

Mr. Alpati greeted me in the foyer of his multi-level home. He seemed to favor modern décor, which bordered on tacky to me, but what did I know about design? Painted plaster suited me just fine.

"The great Detective Noble, I presume," he addressed me, which was probably meant as a compliment, although I detected a hint of sarcasm. Maybe I was reading more into it than I should. "I've heard a lot about you."

"And I've read a lot about you, sir," I replied, keeping my hands clasped in front of me. The old man hadn't offered his, and I wasn't about to be the first.

"With the rags these days, I'm afraid one mustn't judge another by what one reads. A filthy lot, the entirety of them. Come, join me in the parlor."

I followed the gentleman through a set of tall mahogany doors and was offered a seat on a green leather sofa - adding further proof to my belief that expensive didn't always mean comfortable.

"What brings you to my neighborhood, young man?"

He had a kind face and a receding hairline that revealed an abundance of gray hair. If I were to take a guess, I'd say he was in his late 60s. Judging by the ruby red smoking jacket he wore over a tailored suit, I'd also venture to say he enjoyed fine tobacco. Several stubs of a Cuban variety were in the marble ashtray on the table. I also noticed several awards on the expansive mantelpiece. Some had to do with his business, while others were awarded for humanitarian efforts. I recalled reading about his substantial donations to aid displaced citizens following the war. However, when it came to such things, I could never be certain there wasn't an ulterior motive behind it. What could be viewed as honest concern was also tax-deductible or used as a publicity stunt.

"I promise not to take up too much of your time," I began, settling my attention on a pair of blue eyes that seemed to sit too close together. He'd make a better politician than designer based on his looks. "But I'd like to speak with you in regards to Miss Ami Berrie. I believe she's an employee of yours."

"Yes, of course," Mr. Alpati grinned knowingly before taking a seat in a high-back golden chair with intricately detailed armrests and clawed feet. "I believe she mentioned hiring someone from your agency to figure out this mess she's gotten herself into. Such a shame. Miss Boone was also a highly paid employee of mine as well, and much sought after. She will truly be missed in the industry."

"Honestly, what I'd like to talk about is related to Miss Berrie's case, although somewhat indirectly. I'd like to discuss her ex-boyfriend: Nick Walker. I believe you know him quite well."

For a fraction of a second, I saw a flash of emotion; most likely surprise, although it could also have been anger. It quickly disappeared, however, and was replaced by another oily grin. "Ah, yes. My son. I do not deny the relation. If this is something regarding his recent personal life, I'm rather ashamed to admit I can be of little help. We don't see much of one another these days."

"And yet you visited him at his work not too long ago and seemed to have had an argument," I continued, ignoring the fact he seemed unwilling to cooperate. "What was that about?"

Again with the reluctant and forced grin. It was the kind that gave you goosebumps. What it told me was that Mr. Alpati was hiding something and was doing his best to keep that something hidden.

"I do not condone my son's current lifestyle. That's all there is to it. He came from wealth and now lives in poverty and it's of his own choosing. I don't understand that. I offered him the world and he refused my gift. I was disappointed and that's all there is to it."

"I see," I replied, eyeing a silver bowl filled with mints. "May I?" I asked while taking one.

"Of course, be my guest."

I intentionally took my time unraveling the candy and made as much noise as I possibly could. I had a suspicion that Mr. Alpati lacked several virtues; patience being one of them. Before he could sic the dogs onto me, I popped the sweet into my mouth and started clattering it around inside, bouncing it back and forth between teeth.

"You do realize that Nick Walker is the police's number one suspect in the murder of Miss Boone," I informed him although I had no doubt Mr. Alpati knew everything that went on in this city; including the happenings in police headquarters.

"My son may be many things, but he is no murderer," Alpati insisted before nodding his head in the direction of the foyer. I heard the doors behind me close gently. Apparently, what was being discussed was not for the house staff's listening ears and wagging tongues.

"I warned him about Miss Berrie and he would not listen to me."

"That's interesting to hear," I shot back, "since Nick informed me that you cared about her a great deal. His exact words were 'Dad loves Ami,' as a matter of fact."

"Oh, I do, which is why I posted her bail. Don't get me wrong," Alpati quickly confirmed. "It's just that she comes from a small place and in my line of work, once a girl has aged and is no longer worth my time, they tend to return to their place of origin. Those who are small think small."

That seemed rather coldhearted, and yet he continued as if he'd said nothing wrong.

"She may work for me but is truly unworthy of my son's affections. She has no higher education, comes from a middle-class family, and lacks any sort of influential connections. Everything she possesses has been provided by me. I did not raise my son to lower himself in such a fashion."

Wow. Just wow. No wonder Nick hated this man! And yet, snobbery and greed did not constitute murder. I needed something else to go on. It was time to take more drastic measures.

"Is that why you tried to have her killed?" I asked. Sometimes, a shocking question leads to an equally shocking reply. Perhaps it was time I made Mr. Alpati squirm in his golden seat.

Obviously stunned by the accusation, the older man stood as quickly as his joints would allow. I stayed where I was, although I could easily pretend to feel hot dog breath against the back of my neck.

"I do not allow this type of tomfoolery in my home young man, and I must ask you to leave."

"Just one more thing," I insisted while still seated. "Were you afraid she'd get too close? Perhaps discover some of your dirty little secrets? This much wealth tends to corrupt the incorruptible. I've seen it happen many times in my line of work. Greed often begets greed."

"Gunther!"

I assumed Alpati had just called for one of his guards. However, I wasn't finished aggravating the man and hurried on before I was literally thrown out on my ass.

"Ami Berrie seems to be an intelligent young woman of high morals, and I can't see her putting up with anything unlawful. It wouldn't have been long before she confronted you about a few of your questionable business dealings. Or maybe she would've taken her suspicions straight to the police. But that would've been okay since you own the police. However, it was still a risk, wasn't it? So, why did you try and have her killed? I'd honestly like to know."

A large and powerful hand abruptly gripped my arm.

"Get this man out of my sight," Alpati hissed before I was literally dragged from the room.

"I'm not finished with my interview, Mr. Alpati!" I yelled back to him. "I'm going to keep digging and I have the feeling when I get deep enough, I'm going to uncover something vile!"

I managed to keep my footing until we reached the stone steps outside the house. However, this was nothing new to me and I rolled when I hit the ground, lessening the force of the impact although it still hurt like hell.

"Don't come back!" Gunther warned me with a heavy Italian accent. "Or I will have to use more forceful measures."

He indicated the bulge in his jacket pocket, which I assumed was a magnum at least. I held up my hands in surrender.

"I'm going, I'm going," I told him rising to my feet and dusting myself off. At least the dogs were still tied up.

I hurried to Iris who was still waiting patiently for me and told her to drive.

"How did it go?" she asked as soon as we'd left the area. I was surveilling the road behind us, just to be safe. I wouldn't put it past someone as powerful as Mr. Alpati, to put a tail on us.

"Keep driving," I insisted.

"Did you find out anything?" she continued, at a higher rate of speed than I'd ever witnessed her drive before. When she took the corner onto Main, the tires even squealed.

"You can slow down now," I suggested, turning back to face the front. "We're safe."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Iris replied excitedly. "You had that look on your face."

"What look?" I asked. I hadn't realized I had a certain look for times like these.

"The look that says all hell is about to break loose," she informed me. "Was it worth it?"

"I think so," I confirmed. "I might not have hit the nail on the head, but I definitely came close to it."

"Jeepers, Ben. I'd hate to see what would happen if your aim was better."

I chuckled nervously. "Me too." I agreed.


	9. Blame It On the Morphine

Sometimes a dream can disorient you so thoroughly that when you wake up, you have no idea where you are or how you got there. And other times you wonder if you're actually dreaming.

That wasn't presently my problem. I knew I wasn't dreaming and yet I couldn't remember what had happened to land me in a hospital with tubes sticking out of places no tube should be stuck into in the first place.

"Oh, thank God, you're awake!"

I expected Mr. Quinn to be there to fill in the blanks, so I was quite surprised to see a beautiful young face hovering over me.

"We weren't sure you were going to make it!" Ami was frantically explaining while I was trying to adjust my focus. Maybe I was dreaming after all, although she had said 'we.' My mind was clear enough to realize there had to be someone else in the room.

"We?" I mumbled which was more difficult than it should've been. Who had filled my mouth with sand?

"I'm here," a deep, familiar voice replied. "You did give us a scare, although you should know upfront, this probably isn't the last time you're going to be shot at."

Matthew Quinn was sitting near the window. I couldn't get a good look at him though and worked to sit up.

"Here. Let me help."

Multiple pillows were placed behind my back and head, and after that, a straw was inserted into my mouth.

"You need to drink something." Her words were kind but authoritative. I didn't dare refuse and took a few sips of ice water.

When I turned back to look at Quinn, he was grinning like the Chesire Cat himself. I glared at him in an effort to warn him not to say anything, but there was something I wanted to ask.

Oh, that's right. I'd been shot. I had wondered where exactly, but when I'd maneuvered to a better position in the bed, the answer became obvious: Lower back, right side.

"I'm going to assume you didn't see the shooter," Quinn pointed out.

"Obviously," I replied sarcastically. Where was the nurse with the pain meds? "Who shoots someone in the back?" I wondered aloud.

"Somebody who doesn't want you nosing around anymore would be my guess. You really must've pissed him off."

"This is all my fault," Ami, who hadn't left my bedside was saying. "I'm so sorry you got hurt. Mr. Quinn, please send me the bill. I want to pay for Ben's care."

I cast Quinn a sideways glance. I knew all about his financial troubles. Surely, he would accept her offer. The agency needed the money.

"Don't worry about it, Miss Berrie. We have insurance to cover things like this."

What a confusing response. We had insurance? Since when? The question must've shown on my face because Quinn quickly and privately shook his head. That's what I thought.

"If only I had seen something!" Ami was continuing to bemoan, and was that a tear in her eye? For me? How about that! "But all I heard was a shot and when I ran out into the hall to see what it was, I found you lying on the floor next to the elevator."

Now I remembered. Following my meeting with Steven Alpati, I wanted to go over a few things with Ami.

"We have the bullet," Quinn informed me, reaching over to actually hand me the hunk of metal that had apparently been dug out of my back.

I studied the object for any markings before finally giving up. "I don't recognize this," I admitted.

"That's because it isn't out in circulation yet," Quinn explained, easing my mind. I didn't like not knowing about things like this. "That type of bullet belongs to a Colt Python, not due to hit the market until next spring."

If my deductions were clear, that could only mean one thing. "The shooter had to either know someone in the firearms industry or the means to go about getting one."

"My thoughts, exactly," Quinn agreed.

Good. There wasn't anything worse than saying something stupid in front of your boss. "Can we get a warrant on this?"

"I'm sure we can. I'll call Chief Dunn and find out. I don't want to assume anything, but I can probably guess the location for the search." Mr. Quinn never missed much. He'd been in this game a long time.

I nodded silent confirmation. "As soon as I get out of here, Mr. Alpati has a few more questions to answer." After all, I did tell him I'd be back.

"Focus on healing up first, sport," the old man teased before he rose to his feet. "I'll get in touch with Dunn and get the paperwork started."

"Thanks," I told him before he nodded a farewell and headed out.

That left Ami and me alone in the room, and I had to admit I was still a little confused as to why she was still hanging around. What made it worse was when she dragged a chair over next to my bedside and sat on it.

"What were you wanting to talk to me about yesterday?"

All right. That made more sense. After all, she had found me bleeding outside her apartment door. Funny, how I was secretly hoping she was staying because she cared. Get real, I told myself. There was no way a girl of her looks and financial status would have anything to do with someone like me.

"I visited Mr. Alpati yesterday," I explained. "He had a lot to say about you and I hate to tell you this, but it wasn't anything good."

I watched her reaction closely and was surprised she didn't seem bothered by this information.

"The feeling is mutual," she told me, leaning forward against the rail of my bed, her dark eyes wide and innocent. Or so they appeared.

"He's one of those people who think that just because they have a little money, they can step all over those who don't. He doesn't realize it's those people who got him where he is today. Did you know he was a tailor back in Italy? It's true: a poor tailor. And yet, someone cut him a break, offered him an internship, and sent him to America. He's been lucky and has had everything handed to him."

She certainly had a fairly low opinion of the man, which led me to tell her something I may regret. "That's exactly what he said about you," I informed her. "He said you wouldn't be where you are today without him – that he's given you everything."

A sweet smile lifted the corners of her glossy lips. "What he doesn't realize is that I'm the one using him. I have no intention of killing myself trying to become the next Alpati supermodel. I have other plans for my life."

Interesting. "Is that so? What sort of plans?" I couldn't help but ask. I was truly interested in anything she had to say and thoroughly enjoyed watching her say anything.

Iris was not going to like this one bit.

"I enrolled in City College last semester. I'm studying Political Science. The professors are so great. I'm allowed to take my work with me when I travel so I don't get behind. I attend classes whenever I'm in town."

"I'm guessing Mr. Alpati isn't aware of this," I stated, recalling the man saying something about her not having a higher education.

"That's true. I'm hiding this from him because he wouldn't like it. He prefers to have his employees solely dependent upon him. That way he has the right to dictate where we live, what we eat, whom we date, and where we go."

"Golden handcuffs," I pointed out. It was something Quinn had said to me once.

"Pardon me?"

"You're essentially a prisoner who relies on someone else's money to provide everything you need to live. You aren't free to make your own decisions."

"Yes. That's a good way of putting it," she agreed.

Our conversation was interrupted by a rather robust nurse who insisted on removing my catheter. Ami stepped behind a privacy curtain which I was thankful for. This would go much better if I was unconscious.

"I'm glad to see you've come to, Mr. Noble," the nurse said while pulling out a tube I could've sworn was lined with barbed wire. "I'll inform the physician and have a meal sent up soon."

"Great. Thanks," I told her, though I really didn't mean it. I had to get out of here as soon as possible and I wasn't hungry.

After the nurse left, Ami stepped back into view.

"Sorry about that," I told her while damning the way my skin had turned pink, even though she hadn't seemed to notice.

"Don't be silly. You're in a hospital. Things like this are to be expected."

A long pause followed her comment which surprisingly wasn't awkward at all. She was just standing there smiling at me, and I was thoroughly enjoying it. Despite the fact alarm bells were going off in my head and a promise I'd made to Mr. Quinn to not get involved with a client was about to be essentially ignored, I didn't seem to care.

I'll just blame it on the morphine.


	10. It's Elementary My Dear Watson

"I won't listen to another lame excuse. I feel responsible for you getting hurt, so I'm going to be the one to take care of you until you're completely healed."

Before I realized exactly what I'd agreed to, I was tucked into the biggest bed I'd ever seen. There were spindles on each corner that nearly touched the ceiling, and although the mattress was firm, it seemed to soften with my weight. Score one point for the rich and famous. The murals on the surrounding walls were another story. I think I recognized one of them as being the Taj Mahal, but I couldn't be sure. They were perfectly suited for a bedroom suite, however, since I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to keep their eyes open in here for long.

"It's horrendous, isn't it?" Ami pointed out while adding yet another pillow behind my head. "The walls in here used to be lavender but then Mr. Alpati visited India, and pretty soon after that, I come home to this."

"The place certainly made an impression on him. Does he travel often?" I asked while she busied herself in the closet and soon brought out another blanket to suffocate me with.

"Yes. He's always researching the latest textiles and trends around the world," she replied.

"Does he ever take anyone with him? Or does he prefer to travel alone?" I had my work cut out to gather enough evidence to arrest Mr. Alpati. While Quinn filled out the paperwork for a warrant, I planned on gathering every detail I could about the man.

"Sometimes he takes one of the girls with him," she explained. "I accompanied him to Austria once. It's a beautiful country."

"Did he ever take anyone else besides you? Perhaps he has a favorite?" I wondered if I would tire her with so many questions, though so far she showed no sign of annoyance.

"That would have to be Sadie," Ami replied sadly. "She was with him when he visited Spain, Greece, and let's see; I believe, Portugal as well."

Interesting.

"Why do you ask?"

I studied her face and realized she was being completely honest with me and actually had no suspicions regarding her former roommate. I was going to have to be blunt.

"Did you ever have a feeling that perhaps Sadie and Mr. Alpati shared more than just a working relationship?"

Her expression turned sour as soon as I asked.

"It's not uncommon, you know," I pointed out. "Sometimes, a few diamonds or perhaps a trip to Spain is all it takes."

"Eww," Ami replied in a way that was both childish and endearing. "He's so…old!"

"You never heard her talk about him such a way? Or did you ever overhear a conversation between them?" If I could prove there was a romantic relationship between the deceased and Mr. Alpati, perhaps I could discover a motive. Passion was often a popular one and would explain the violent way in which Sadie was attacked.

"I know this isn't going to make much sense, but we weren't that close," Ami explained, tracing the pattern on the bed covering with her finger. "We shared this apartment for two years and never had one conversation that lasted more than a few minutes. Sadie was a very private person and didn't share much about her life with me, especially when it came to work."

That explained the way Ami had been able to so quickly recover after the shock of the girl's murder. Sure, she had been upset the night it had happened and even blamed herself, but once Alpati had posted her bail, and the mess in her apartment had been cleaned up, her focus had shifted. In fact, the spotlight seemed to have moved to me – not that I minded. I was enjoying her company, though realized I couldn't play the patient for much longer. There was too much work to do.

I needed to act out the scene of the murder to try and get a better glimpse of what had transpired. All I had were a few quickly snapped photos. What I needed to do was study her apartment much more thoroughly than I'd been allowed to so far.

"Listen," I tried to get up although my efforts were immediately thwarted by a small yet firm hand planted on my chest.

"You're not going anywhere," Ami insisted, forcefully pushing me back into the pile of pillows. "It's late and you need to rest. You're not going to heal if you go galavanting around the city."

"But.." I tried to explain I wasn't going to go anywhere, but she would have none of it.

"No arguing!" she interrupted. "Please, Ben. I care about what happens to you and I feel responsible. I'm going to watch over you tonight and then in the morning after you've had a good breakfast, you can resume your investigation. Promise to stay put?"

She had a way about her and could convince me to run through the city naked if she wanted to.

"You're going to sleep, though, right?" She wouldn't be of much help the next day if she didn't.

"I'm going to try. I'll be in Sadie's room, just down the hall. If you need anything, just holler for me."

Again a prolonged silence occurred and I couldn't help but think it would be a perfect time for a goodnight kiss. The idea surprised me and wasn't one I could blame on morphine. Any pain I was experiencing was being dealt with by a prescription.

"Good night, Ben," Ami finally said before leaving me alone in India.

I stretched over to retrieve the prescription bottle from the nightstand and swallowed another pill. I was hoping the thing would knock me out.

My plan must've worked because the next thing I knew, the curtains were being drawn back and sunshine was blinding me.

"Rise and shine!" Ami announced far too loudly.

Just great. She was happy in the morning when I couldn't even think straight before at least one cup of coffee.

"Your coffee is on the nightstand, along with some cream and sugar. I wasn't sure how you liked it."

She was a whirlwind of activity: folding up the extra blankets I had kicked onto the floor in the night and at least two pillows as well. My sleep-addled eyes could barely keep up and I took a long swig of the morning beverage without adding anything to it. Today, I had a strong suspicion I needed it black.

"Mr. Quinn phoned early this morning to check on you," she told me from the closet. "He said as soon as you're up to it, he has the warrant ready." Her head leaned out from behind the folding closet doors. "Although he mentioned how difficult it was to get one. Supposedly, the Chief of Police doesn't like you very much. He said you shouldn't have been aggravating such an important member of the community. Apparently, Mr. Alpati phoned in a complaint."

Another long draw from the mug left it empty. Already I was more alert. Perhaps I should take it easy with those pain pills.

"Mr. Dunn is a hard nut to crack," I informed her. I could care less what he or Mr. Alpati thought of me. "He goes by the book. Experience has taught me that in order to solve a case, sometimes I have to break the rules."

"That ideology is what gets you shot," she argued, stepping back into the room with clothing I recognized. "We made a deal," Ami announced, placing a freshly washed and pressed shirt onto the bed, along with my suit jacket, trousers, and tie. "Breakfast is ready and afterward we'll look for clues."

"We'll look?" I echoed. Did she truly believe I required her assistance?

"I might be gullible, Mr. Noble," she pointed out while stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. "But I'm not stupid. And besides, you're still not one-hundred percent. Let me help."

There was nothing I would like better than her company, but I also preferred to work alone. One look at the plea in her eyes, however, dissolved any argument I was mentally preparing.

"Fine," I gave in quicker than expected, only to decide it had been worth saying just to see the smile that lit her face. "But we're staying in the apartment. It's too dangerous to go poking around out there." At least for her and I had the scar to prove it.

"Agreed," she replied, adding another dazzling smile.

What had I gotten myself into? "All right Watson," I teased. "After breakfast, we'll put on our sleuth caps and see what we can uncover."


	11. Small Miracles

Every kind of meat popular for breakfast was on my plate when I met Ami in the kitchen.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I went a little overboard," she explained while setting a plate of hot biscuits in front of me as well. "I like to cook and I don't get a chance to very often."

"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," I gently admonished her as I took a seat. There was bacon, sausage links, patties, and even steak, biscuits, eggs, and gravy: Enough for a small army! I'd eat as much as I could, but the soreness in my back had diminished my appetite.

She smiled sweetly and sat down with a steaming mug. "Honestly, it was no trouble. I told you I grew up in the country. We raised chickens and had our own garden. My sister and I even raised a pig once."

From the looks of her, I would have never guessed. "You are full of surprises," I glibly commented. "All right, Miss Corn Queen, I'll do my best."

Half an hour later, I leaned back in my seat and groaned. I was just about to explode and couldn't take another bite. Ami said she'd enjoyed watching me eat but hadn't touched a morsel. Mr. Alpati's models adhere to strict diet restrictions, she informed me. All she'd enjoyed was coffee.

I gingerly stood and stretched a little before clearing the table out of habit.

"We can come back and do this later. I want to help you with your investigation."

Her eagerness was revealed in her tone, as well as the sparkle in her eye.

"Very well," I told her, wiping my mouth one last time with a cloth napkin. "Let's start in the living room."

Ami followed me to where Sadie had been found and I began speaking my thoughts out loud. Even if she hadn't been present, I would've done so. It's how I work.

"She was lying face down, with her head in this direction," I began, visualizing the scene as I described it. "Which could mean that someone snuck up from behind without her realizing it."

"Not with those mirrors on the wall," Ami pointed out.

I glanced up to where she had indicated. Indeed, there were several wide strips of silver etched mirrors hanging on the wall above the media console.

"Good point," I mentioned, physically drawing Ami to the exact location of Sadie's body. "Stand here and look in that direction," I told her, pointing her toward the wall of mirrors.  
She did so while I crept up behind her. Even though I couldn't see myself in the mirrors from that angle, she definitely could see me.

"What does that mean?" Ami asked me.

Perhaps a significant fact though it was too early to tell for sure. "That most likely, Sadie knew her killer personally. Whether she let them in or they were already here is another story. You didn't hear her scream, did you?"

"No," Ami replied. "And I just remembered something. Whenever Sadie couldn't sleep, she would come in here and listen to music. She always rolled up a towel and put it under my bedroom door to muffle the sound and not disturb me. There was a towel there that evening, so I'm assuming that's what she was doing in here in the middle of the night."

"Was the music playing when you came in?" I asked, needing more details than what she'd already shared.

"No. The turntable was still spinning though."

I wasn't sure if that was an important factor or not.

"What time did you go to bed?" I asked, just to make sure she hadn't left anything else out of her statement to the police.

"Around 11:00," she answered, which matched her original report – something I had gone over thoroughly several times. At least the rest of her story was consistent. "And something woke me up around two a.m."

"Do you remember what exactly?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"I'm not sure," she replied truthfully. "It was a thudding sound and could've been the door shutting or Sadie…"

The memory was still fresh and painful, so I volunteered to finish her statement. "Hitting the floor."

"Right," she quietly agreed. "I sat up in bed and listened and didn't hear anything else. I was curious though and got up, grabbed my robe, came in here…and that's when I found her. I called the police first but remembered seeing your office, so I called Mr. Quinn as well."

And I was thankful she had or I never would have met her.

"Whoever was in here and attacked Sadie, left before you got up," I reasoned. "Tell me this: Does Mr. Alpati have a key to your apartment?"

"Yes," Ami answered, which didn't surprise me all that much. The man definitely liked to be in control. "I think he considers this apartment one of his personal canvases to try out new interior designs. He's always swapping out furniture or changing the paint on the walls, although he usually does all that while we're traveling."

"You mentioned before that he always travels with you, so, he had to hire someone to come in here while you were out of town. Which means he either loaned them his key or had another one made."

"That's a scary thought I've never considered before."

I had more news for her but would wait to say anything until I could prove it. I placed my finger to my lips to silence her and started searching: inside lamps, beneath tabletops, along the edges of the wood trim. Finally, success came when I picked up a rather heavy ashtray on the coffee table. It was made out of some sort of black marble, had four legs on it like a chair, and wasn't flush to the surface. Attached underneath it was exactly what I was looking for: A listening device. For the time being, I removed it and stepped outside to lay it on a patio table. I didn't want to alert Alpati of my discovery. Not just yet.

When I stepped back inside, Ami appeared flushed and concerned. "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you're thinking it's a radio transmitter used to eavesdrop on whoever comes in here, then yes. It's remarkably advanced. Quinn and I don't have anything that compact."

"Why that sonofabitch," she mumbled, her mood rapidly shifting to anger. "You mean to tell me that he's been spying on us this whole time! The nerve of that man!"

"But why?" I pondered out loud. "Why would he think it was necessary to listen to what you girls were talking about?"

"I don't know! Whenever we did talk, it was mostly about work," Ami informed me. "Sometimes we'd sit in here and watch television and gossip about other models, but nothing ever that interesting. When we're not working, we lead relatively boring lives."

I smiled at her choice of words. "For some reason, he thought it was necessary to spy on you two. Either he's paranoid or he's afraid."

"Of what?" Ami asked. "He has more money than he knows what to do with and has men guarding him all the time. What could he possibly be afraid of?"

I studied her for a moment to see if she would come to the same conclusion I was. After a few seconds, a single brow lifted – a sign I was learning that revealed she was thoroughly perturbed.

"He's hiding something," she determined on her own.

"A secret worth committing murder in order to protect," I added. "Perhaps it's time to go get that warrant."

Just as the words left my mouth, her phone rang, causing both of us to jump a little in surprise. Ami answered it and then held the handset out toward me. "It's Mr. Quinn. He says it's urgent."

I listened to what Quinn had to say and then hurried to grab my coat and weapon. Ami was hot on my trail.

"What is it? What did he say?" she was asking me.

On my way out, I answered her. "Mr. Alpati is fleeing. One of our contacts saw him at the airport. He's booked a flight out of the country. Stay here." I demanded.

"But.."

I interrupted her firmly. "This could be dangerous. I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can."

I paused and glanced back at her as soon as I stepped through the door. She was worried. For me. Small miracles occur every day, if only you know how to look for them.

My hand was drawn to her face seemingly of its own accord and I took the time to tenderly caress the soft skin of her cheek with my fingers. Not only did she seem to appreciate my touch, but smiled and leaned into it. My heart leaped for joy but I didn't have time for anything else. I had to get to that airport.


	12. "Finding the Head of the Snake"

We made it to gate twenty-two just as the passengers were beginning to board. Flight 97 would eventually land in Germany and I wondered why not Italy?

The waiting area was full, although Mr. Alpati was easily spotted. Not everyone could afford a designer-made plaid suit coat. He stood out from the crowd and we approached him cautiously. Mr. Quinn had picked me up at Ami's building and during the ride to the airport, we decided to try our best not to make a scene. The plan was to simply slip up behind him and jab a gun into his back before asking him to come with us quietly.

In our line of work, however, even well-laid plans are often ruined. He spotted us before we'd reached the gate and quickly began worming his way through the line. It was sheer luck that someone complained and even better luck that the certain someone was a mountain of a man who didn't appreciate anyone cutting in line ahead of him.

Alpati had been held up and now a hostess was doing her best to intervene and calm both men down. This gave Quinn and me the opportunity to draw our weapons and shout out our orders for him to give up.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he replied. "Not when I'm this close to success, gentleman."

I had no idea what he was talking about but did notice something peculiar. His accent had changed. I couldn't pinpoint its origin, although I figured Quinn could. My mentor had fought in the war and had traveled across most of Europe.

"He's German," Quinn said with quiet realization before I'd even asked the question. One of his thugs being named Gunther suddenly made much more sense.

The standoff had lasted mere seconds before Alpati made his move. For being a man of advanced years, he was pretty quick. Before we realized it, he'd grabbed the young hostess and stuck a gun to her temple. A Colt Python as a matter of fact.

As soon as he did that, chaos erupted and passengers ran screaming in every direction. I was pleased about that. It meant there were fewer people blocking our shot. However, it also gave Alpati the opportunity to step closer to the passenger bridge.

"Hold it right there," Quinn warned, pulling back the hammer of his revolver.

"You and your government are fools," Mr. Alpati sneered, keeping the young lady directly in front of him. "Nazi Germany will rise again and be more powerful than ever."

"Der Fuhrer is dead. In case you missed it, he killed himself. The Third Reich will never be resurrected," Quinn pointed out. "I'm pretty sure that was decided during the Potsdam Conference."

"There will be no Entnazifizierung," Alpati continued. "My colleagues and I will make certain of that."

I wasn't sure how this was going to play out and there was one important question I had to ask. "Why did you murder Sadie Boone?"

Something I was certain about was the man's inflated ego. He would never ignore a chance to boast about how he had apparently fooled us all.

"The girl was working for us but lost sight of the dream and threatened to turn all our hard work over to the police. I couldn't allow that to happen. Not when we are so close to victory."

I quickly glanced over at Quinn. The veins in his neck were bulging and he was gritting his teeth so hard, I was afraid he'd break his jaw. I knew for a fact that Quinn lost three brothers in the war and he had never given up the idea of somehow getting vengeance. I didn't want Alpati dead. Not just yet. He had too much to explain.

"What's your name?" Quinn growled while advancing a couple more steps.

"If you come any closer, this innocent young woman will sacrifice her life for the cause," the older man threatened before lifting his head proudly. "I am Fredierich Scheid, member of the New Nazi Party. I will no longer pretend to not know who you are Colonel Quinn," Scheid continued, appearing as if the devil himself had taken over the man. "In fact, I oversaw the execution of two of your brothers myself."

I wasn't sure what I was going to do if Quinn rushed the man, but I needed to plan what to do in case that happened.

"You are wanted in several allied countries for committing numerous war crimes," Quinn pointed out while keeping a steady yet deadly aim.

"A crime is only committed when an act causes offense," Scheid explained. "America is a spoiled and mongrel nation. Soon, it will suffer as Germany has. You too will know poverty and hunger, and what it feels like to have everything you have built fall apart before your very eyes."

During this little speech, Scheid had been backing down the passenger walkway with the frightened hostess in tow. We carefully pursued, but now his back was to the wall, which in this case, was the door of the plane.

It was now or never and Quinn whispered for me to take the shot. I aimed but couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. Each time I tried, the girl's face moved into my sights.

To complicate matters, the pilot stepped into the picture, concerned about what was holding everyone up. He took one look at us and then the situation before attempting to return to the plane, only to find the barrel of a Colt revolver pointing at his head.

The girl had been tossed to the floor at the same time. It had all happened so quickly, we didn't have the chance to reach the plane before Scheid had stepped on board with his new hostage.

His smile as the pilot shut the door was pure evil, and all Quinn and I could do was to stand there empty-handed as Fredierich Scheid made his escape.


	13. A Fiery Serpent

We both stood at the edge of the bridge, frustrated and forced to watch our prey escape. Something had to be done and fast! I wasn't about to let that monster get away, although there were few options. I could head to the nearest exit or take my chances and jump.

"I'm going after him," I told Quinn with youthful determination.

I knew he wanted to capture Scheid even more than I did, especially after the man's confession.

"By the time you reach the exit, that plane will be on the runway," Quinn informed me of a consideration I'd already gone over in my mind and rejected.

I had another idea and gazed down at the cement below.

"That's at least a ten-foot drop," Quinn advised after guessing my intention. "You'll probably injure yourself and then you'll be of no use to me."

I quickly studied the distance myself. "More like eight," I replied, and without giving him an opportunity to argue further, I jumped, landing in a crouched position onto the hard surface below. Quinn, however, wasn't so lucky. I wasn't sure he'd attempt the leap, but he landed next to me. I heard a popping sound when he did and then a loud grunt.

"Go on!" he shouted in a pained voice.

I had no choice but to leave him behind and ran at top speed across the tarmac. The plane was still taxiing and I figured if I ran straight across, I could meet it before it started gaining speed for takeoff.

As soon as the pilot turned the plane onto the runway, I fired my revolver. I wasn't all that sure where to aim and made a quick assumption that the engine had to be in the belly. I shot twice and missed, hitting the wing instead. It appeared as if a Higher Power was helping me out today because some type of dark liquid started spewing out of the bullet holes I'd created. I fired again in the same spot, though nothing happened and the plane was beginning to pick up speed. Soon, it would be out of range, take to the skies, and Scheid would be free.

I stopped running, held my breath, and took more careful aim, firing slightly ahead of the vehicle to adjust for its movement and missed. This time, the bullet must've grazed off the hull, because it caused sparks to shoot out and back. Call it fate or divine intervention, but somehow the reaction ignited the fluid leak and in rapid succession, engulfed the entire wing in flame.

Instead of gaining speed and taking off, the pilot was forced to reduce speed and eventually brake. By that time, however, the fire had spread and an enormous explosion occurred, which knocked me off my feet.

My ears were ringing, but I sat on the runway and watched the scene. I didn't think Scheid would make it out alive but was profoundly sorry the pilot might not either. I had every intention of sitting there to make sure of it until the sound of sirens pierced the air and rescue vehicles headed toward the burning plane. Soon, I heard footsteps approaching and finally stood to greet my mentor.

"You all right?" I asked, concerned about the obvious limp he was demonstrating. Most likely, he had sprained or perhaps had broken his ankle.

"That was a helluva shot," Quinn told me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I wasn't sure if the touch was congratulatory or if he merely needed the physical support; not that I cared. He could lean on me all day. All I wanted to know was if Scheid was alive or dead. I wasn't going to move and would watch that plane turn to ash just to make sure. The fact that my bullet hit where I hadn't intended was information I'd take to my grave.

"Do you think he'll make it out alive?" I asked while the firefighters attacked the blaze.

"I highly doubt it, but we'll wait around to be certain. Considering the atrocities he was responsible for during the war, death is an easy way out for him."

What I knew about the war was very little compared to Quinn. He'd been there and witnessed things that would give me nightmares. I'd heard a few tragic stories from him as well as older relatives, but it wasn't the same as seeing the carnage with your own eyes. I couldn't imagine what he was feeling right now. I was pleased we'd stopped Scheid, but felt horrible that the pilot would most likely perish along with him.

"Do you think anyone else was on that plane?" Guilt compelled me to ask. When we'd stopped Scheid at the gate, the waiting passengers had fled, although I didn't want to make any false assumptions. Was stopping one awful man worth killing innocent others? I wasn't sure.

"You mustn't regret what you did, Ben," Quinn consoled me, adding a fatherly squeeze to my shoulder. "Scheid had to be stopped. There's no telling what he and his comrades had up their sleeves. As soon as we get back to the office, I'll call a friend in Washington to inform him of the situation."

Good. Let the FBI take over from here. As far as I was concerned, I was finished with Fredierich Scheid.

It took nearly two hours for the rescue team to put out the blaze and search the remains of the plane. For the duration of those two hours, Quinn and I observed their heroic efforts. Only after we witnessed just two scorched bodies being removed from the wreckage did I relax and we begin the slow walk back into the terminal, assisting Quinn as best I could. About halfway there, Chief Dunn intercepted us.

"Come by the office and make a statement," he told us. It wasn't a request. "I'm curious to learn exactly what happened here."

"Of course," Quinn replied. "Allow me to tell you right now that one of those bodies is Steven Alpati: who claimed he was a Nazi named Scheid."

"General Fredierich Scheid?"

"One and the same," Quinn confirmed.

"Damn," Dunn responded. "You mean to tell me he's been right under our nose this entire time?"

"It appears so."

"He was the one who murdered Sadie Boone," I added. "As well as put that bullet in my back."

Rarely did Chief Dunn ever complement our agency on the work we did. Sometimes, I got the feeling he thought we were interfering instead of helping out with an investigation. For whatever reason, today he seemed pleased, although I doubted he'd admit it.

"You two can go home. We'll handle things from here," he responded instead.

"I'd like a confirmation of identity as soon as possible," Quinn requested.

Chief Dunn smiled and nodded. It was a tiny grin that disappeared with the same speed of its appearance, but it still counted. "Of course."

I was satisfied for the time being and couldn't wait to get back and let Ami know what had happened.


	14. Hope For the Future

Whenever Quinn and I wrapped up a case, we always celebrated at Moretti's Italian Ristorante. It was our tradition. So much so, that the entire wait staff and owner knew us by name as well as the reason why we were there.

"What was it this time boys?" the owner asked once he'd come over to our table to greet us. "Thieves? Drug pushers? Don't tell me it was another wife accusing her husband of having an affair! Cosa c'è che non va in queste persone!"

I didn't speak Italian and had no idea what the man had just said.

"No, nothing like that," Quinn ensured Mr. Moretti.

I'd learned long ago that Mr. Moretti was a busy man and didn't have time for long tales. He just wanted the facts. "We stopped a bad man from returning to Germany," my boss informed him.

"Ah! I read that in the paper this morning! That was you two? Indeed! He was a very bad man! Buon lavoro! Il tuo pasto è in casa. I tuoi soldi non vanno bene qui stasera!"

Before I could request an interpretation, Moretti had walked off. I gazed at Quinn for an explanation only to receive one from Ami instead.

"He's quite the fan," she told us, smiling. "It would seem your meals are free tonight."

"I didn't know you spoke Italian," I mentioned before grabbing a slice of salami from the bowl in the middle of the table. It seemed as if I hadn't eaten in a week!

"A few fashion shows have taken place in Italy. Whenever I visit a country, I always try to soak up as much culture as I can. For some reason, learning new languages comes easy to me."

She was beautiful this evening in one of the more plain dresses I had ever seen her wear before, and she'd had plenty of time to get dressed. As soon as Quinn had mentioned inviting her to dine with us, I'd phoned her. That was several hours ago. She looked like every other woman in here; well, except for the obvious: She was absolutely the best looking woman in here, and it had nothing to do with what she was wearing. Ami would look good wearing a potato sack.

"Are you finished with the modeling business?" Quinn asked while I continued to admire her.

"Most definitely," came her positive reply. "I've been studying political science at city college. However, my lease on my apartment is up by the end of the month. I'll need to find a job and a new place to live before then."

I wasn't going to say anything. It wasn't my place. But for months, Iris had been complaining that there was too much work to do in the office for just one secretary. She'd mentioned something about being promoted to Quinn's assistant and the need to hire another secretary to do her current job. At the time, Quinn had ignored her. I wondered if he'd be willing to consider it now. Would he give Ami a chance at the position?

The man had a talent for reading my thoughts and I was thinking very hard on the subject while I chewed another slice of salami.

"I tell you what," Quinn began. "I've been meaning to hire another secretary at our office for a while. The one we currently have is overwhelmed and could use the help."

I was ecstatic. It would be great to be able to spend more time with Ami and get to know her better. It was up to her though and a few seconds passed before she replied.

"That's a generous offer, Mr. Quinn," she said while I worried she would refuse. "I'm afraid I'm not qualified for something like that. I barely know how to type."

I held my breath. Quinn had initially hesitated in hiring Iris, not because of her narcotics history, but because she could only type 100 words a minute! What was he going to say about Ami?

"Don't worry about that," he told her instead. "I'm sure Iris can teach you the ropes. It's boring work but will provide you a steady income while you're attending school. Think about it and let me know Monday morning."

Ami smiled at Quinn and then turned to me. She was asking what I thought about it only with her eyes. I wasn't about to say a thing because I didn't want to influence her decision. If only she knew how much I hoped she'd accept it! I disguised my enthusiasm with a timid smile and a nod.

"I don't need time to think it over," she replied suddenly. "I'll take the position."

"Good!" Quinn announced happily just as an enormous bowl of spaghetti was placed on our table. Separate bowls were passed out as well and I dug right in.

"Is your stomach gnawing at your back?" Quinn asked while I slurped the end of one of the noodles into my mouth.

"Sorry," I announced to both of them. "The FBI interviewed us all the way through lunch. I'm starving!"

A sweet smile directed at me revealed she had already excused my behavior. Or was she just happy about working with me? Time would tell.

We ate and talked throughout dinner, mostly about Quinn's time in the war, his brothers, and my efforts to stop the plane. Quinn actually went on and on about it, as a matter of fact – something he never did.

"Scheid would've gotten away if it wasn't for Ben," he was saying. "We are sitting in the presence of a very brave young man."

I looked at my mentor with a skeptical eye. That sounded like a compliment. What was he up to?

Instead of cluing me in, he smiled and threw his napkin on top of his empty plate. "I don't know about you two, but I'm full, I'm tired, and I'm going home to go to bed. Miss Berrie, I will see you at eight o'clock sharp Monday morning."

"I'll be there," Ami replied. "And thanks again for the opportunity."

"Don't mention it," he responded before standing to leave. "You two have a pleasant evening. Ben, may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure," I told him, standing to follow him a few feet away. This was it. He was going to tell me he'd made a mistake and wasn't going to hire Ami after all. Either that or we picked up another case – something he knew I wouldn't like, and he was going to assign it to me. "What is it?"

"She's no longer a client. You realize this, don't you?"

I was confused. "Yes," I stuttered back. "Why are you.."

An eyebrow shot up just as a grin spread across his face. I knew that look. It typically appeared whenever he was doing his best to set me up on a blind date - something I'd promised myself to never allow again. Just how many nieces did he have anyway?

But this time, it wasn't about his niece. This was about Ami. Ami Berrie was no longer a client, which meant I was free to date her if I wanted to.

Of course, I wanted to.

"Thanks," I told him. "Go home and ice that ankle. Doctor's orders."

"Yes, doctor," he replied before hobbling off, leaning heavily on a cane and waving goodbye to the staff with his other hand on his way out.

I returned to the table and scooted my chair closer to Ami. She didn't seem to mind.

"What was that all about?" she asked me.

I might as well tell her the truth before Quinn embarrassed me about it come Monday morning.

"It's always been an unspoken rule in the office not to date a client," I explained. "Quinn was just reminding me that you are no longer our client."

I gazed at her to study her reaction. She was an intelligent young woman. Surely, I wouldn't have to explain this any further.

"Why Mr. Noble, are you asking me on a date?"

"Not if this one counts," I teased. "Because if it does, in a way, I already have."

"It doesn't," she teased back with a sparkle in her eye. "I'm not letting you off that easy."

"Very well," I replied, inhaling and releasing a deep breath to calm my nerves. I never was very good at this sort of thing. "Miss Berrie, would you honor me by accepting an invitation to possibly go see a movie or maybe take a walk in the park?" Anything would suit me fine, just as long as I was with her.

"You can call me Ami," she continued playfully before becoming quite serious. "Ben, I'd be happy to spend an evening with you. Shall we say, tomorrow night? Seven o'clock?"

"It's a date," I confirmed.

I had expected our evening to end after we'd had dinner and left the restaurant. However, neither of us was ready to say goodbye and we ended up walking around the city and talking together until the wee hours the following morning.

As the sun was beginning to rise on the city, we found ourselves in front of her apartment building.

There was one thing I was sure of: I was going to be a gentleman at all times with her. Which is why I refused her polite invitation to go up to her apartment. Instead, I'd say my goodbyes here on the sidewalk, as awkward as that might be.

"I had a great time tonight," she told me while looking at me through her lashes.

I might be able to bring down an airplane with a .38 caliber revolver, but I wasn't very good at reading women. Was she waiting for something? Perhaps a kiss? Did she want me to kiss her? What would she do if I tried? Should I ask her first or be spontaneous?

While I was contemplating all these things, apparently Ami became impatient since she was the one who tiptoed up and kissed me. She'd caught me by surprise, although I quickly regained my focus and returned the gesture. She tasted sweet like strawberries and the skin of her upper arms felt like silk.

I'm uncertain how long the kiss lasted but were both out of breath by the time it ended. We'd spent the entire evening getting to know one another and yet there was so much more I wanted to discover.

What I had learned so far was that I was looking forward to a long future together: Make no mistake about it.

/End


End file.
